Erosion
by ShadowFan9001
Summary: As a kid, he explored caves and collected rocks; as an adult, he explored caves and collected rocks. Never mind his lack of social skills or the responsibilities hanging over his head. Everything was fine as long as he could add to his rock collection. Until he became Champion, of course. (Summary will be updated.)


A/N: Hello! This is the first fanfiction I have written in a long time. It's actually been sitting in the Doc Manager for a while, but now I've finally gotten around to uploading it. This story will be, in short, a narration of Steven's Pokemon journey. This story may portray Steven in an unconventional way, but this was the impression I got of him after playing Emerald.

. . .

Steven was eleven. He shifted uncomfortably at the table, wearing a suit that was too loose around the shoulders. Around him were dozens of businessmen. They shuffled and glanced at their documents as they talked. It was something about the Devon Corporation. It was always something about the Devon Corporation. Steven suppressed a sigh. He didn't understand why his dad always took him to these meetings.

Steven's father, Mr. Stone, was talking amicably with one of the older investors. "A long-term investment in Devon Goods will be one of the most lucrative decisions you'll ever make," Mr. Stone said, flashing a winning smile. It was no wonder everyone liked him. He had charm. "I'm sure you're all aware that the Pokemon-training industry is booming nowadays. The luxury Pokeballs we plan to market will soon become a must for every prospective trainer. Isn't that right, Steven?"

"Um, yeah," said Steven, who had no idea what was going on. "Yeah, uh... like, my friends... are getting really into Pokemon training, y'know? It's becoming a... thing."

The businessmen smiled and nodded amongst themselves.

Mr. Stone silently looked at Steven and gestured for him to keep going. Testimony from a kid in the marketable age-group could help persuade a few more investors to open their wallets.

Steven bit his lip. "Yeah, so, uh, my friend Lacy, she says she wants to be a professional trainer when she grows up, and... I have a lot of hope for her, you know, because she's also really pretty - uh, because she's also my friend. And some of my other friends are taking up Pokemon training as a serious hobby. My teacher says that with the invention of the, uh... of the Pokeball, Pokemon training could become, like, a global trend."

"My daughter also wants to train Pokemon," said another businessman. This one was younger, with a shiny debonair haircut and a fairly ridiculous bow tie. "The kid has a point."

Mr. Stone broke into a smile.

"Your son really has a future in Devon Corporation," another investor added as she took out her checkbook. She found a pen and made a public display of writing a hearty contribution to the company's new development programs. "He's going to take on the business, yeah?"

"Of course," said Mr. Stone. "It's a family-owned company, after all."

Steven swallowed and tucked his sweaty palms in his pockets.

. . .

As a sixth-grader at the local middle school, Steven Stone was neither a nerd, a jock, or a cool kid. He was friends with some of the people who did theatre, but he didn't take drama class. He knew a few people who liked baseball, but he wasn't good at sports. Everyone thought he was too uptight to really talk to. Steven didn't believe this. The businessmen he saw at those meetings were uptight. Steven was...

"Oh, uh, Roxanne. Hey. Nice haircut, it looks nice on you. Um -"

Roxanne narrowed her eyes disbelievingly. "Are you trying to flirt with me?"

"No!" Steven blurted out. "I was just saying that your hair looks nice! No. Noooo."

Giving him a sideways look, she pulled her books closer to her chest and turned away to talk to one of her friends.

Yes. That was Steven. Steven was awkward.

He could talk far more coherently - even with some of his father's charm - when the topic was something he genuinely cared about. This would have helped him a great deal in social situations. He could have become the walking encyclopedia on Pokemon training, the newest fad nowadays, if he was interested in it. He could get into arguments with his friends about the best baseball teams, if he liked baseball. Or, if he wanted to poke his nose into his friends' social lives, he could memorize who was dating whom and become the world's greatest repository of middle-school rumors.

Unfortunately, Steven didn't like any of those things.

What he cared about, most of all, the thing that got his blood flowing, the thing that he could talk about, at length, for days... was _rocks._

"No, this isn't really a valuable rock," said Steven, turning something that Lance had picked up from the playground in his hand. "It's talc, the softest known mineral, which makes it a little weird, since you can scratch it with your fingernail - it's number 1 on the Mohs hardness scale, believe it or not. And it's pretty common, so no, you won't get anything if you try to sell it online."

Lance just shrugged. "Oo-kay, Steve."

"It's Steven," Steven said, finally looking up from the rock. "Here. It's a pretty nice specimen. You could put it in your rock collection."

Blowing an exasperated puff of air from his mouth, Lance rolled his eyes and stuffed the rock in his pocket. Whatta weirdo.

. . .

There was a crash as Steven's Aggron barreled into the opponent's Salamence, sending up a storm of dust. Steven shielded his eyes. Aggron was slashing heavily at the Salamence with his claws, roaring; the Salamence retaliated with a blast of fire; Drake took off his cap and waved it frantically, motioning somewhere to his left - _he's changing his tactics_, Steven thought, but that didn't matter, anyway, because in the midst of battle, Steven was not nervous.

It was a tremendous sensation, the feeling of being not-nervous. There weren't any business executives studying him from across a desk. His father had stopped breathing down his neck. He had finished school. Like everyone else, he (gladly) left his parents' home to begin his Pokemon journey. Life was idyllic. Life was Pokemon training, and rock collecting, and submitting papers to geology organizations, and not having to talk to stuffy investors in suits, and -

The Salamence fell heavily onto its side.

"Oh," said Steven. "Um, oh."

Studying his fainted Pokemon, Drake addressed Steven gruffly. "You won."

"Yeah," said Steven. "Oh. Yeah. I did win."

"Yes," said Drake. "That hasn't happened before, actually."

"Uh, so, what does that mean?"

Drake sighed. "They just instituted this system a year ago, so that we would be consistent with the Indigo League. According to the guidelines, whoever manages to defeat the Elite Four will become the Pokemon Champion." He held up a hand, gesturing for Steven to wait. Drake's footsteps echoed quietly as he retreated to some small corridor; there was the sound of rummaging. He returned holding a pile of documents and a floppy white cloth.

"You're the Champion, kid," said Drake. "Welcome to the Hoenn League. Your orientation starts tomorrow."

Steven had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

. . .

The sun shone cheerfully the next morning. Steven's metal arm-bands shone cheerfully as he fixed them in the mirror. His Pokeballs (clipped carefully to the inside of his jacket) shone cheerfully as they caught the light. Cheer, cheer, cheer. Steven felt like throwing up.

He slumped at his desk.

An hour ago, Drake had clumsily tried explaining Steven's new position. "You're the Champion now, so that means you're the highest rank."

"Wait, but what am I supposed to do?" Steven had asked.

Drake just shrugged. "Defend your title, kid."

So now Steven was sitting at a shiny new desk, waiting for the press to come in and flood him with questions. He wasn't really sure what to expect. Photos, probably. He wondered if his tie was on straight. He had never been good with appearANCES AUUGH -

A chirpy reporter shoved a microphone into Steven's face. "So, what are your first thoughts on becoming Champion?"

"Uh -"

A camera flashed in his direction, momentarily blinding him.

"Uh, I really can't believe it, I guess -"

Another reporter pounced on the brief pause to add in another question. "What are your hobbies, Steven Stone?" She had the name of a famous gossip magazine plastered in her microphone.

"Well, I like collecting rocks -"

"Does this mean that you won't be inheriting your father's company?"

"I, uh, I don't know -"

"Any special someones?"

"What does that even mean -" Steven spluttered.

It was a long day.

. . .

His Skarmory gave him a soulful look when he gestured for it to fly him back home. Steven felt on the verge of collapsing. That was exactly what he did, too, as soon as he had opened the front door and walked a few feet to the sofa.

He closed his eyes and tried to think about something pleasant, like rocks. Rocks were always nice. There were blue rocks, and red rocks, and green rocks... one rock, two rocks, red rocks, blue rocks... what was he even thinking? His brain was seriously fried, he needed a nap... he had always been the best at geology at school... he needed to buy another display shelf for his rock collection, maybe he could find one at a flea market...

"Beep, beep," said the phone.

Steven flopped around on the couch until he could stretch his arm far enough to grab the phone. "Hello?" he mumbled.

"Hey, Steven!" It was Drake. "This might be a little hard to believe, but another trainer got past the Elite Four just a day after you did."

"Huh?" Jolted back to his senses, Steven quickly realized what this could mean. "There's going to be another Champion? But I thought there could be only one..."

"The rules aren't set in stone, kid. Hold on, new guy wants to talk to you."

Faint bursts of static rustled out of Steven's phone. A new voice filled up the line. "Mr. Stone?"

"It's Steven."

"Well, Steven, I'm your Champion-in-arms! I'd daresay we'd make a fabulous duo!"

Steven had no idea how to respond.

"So, why don't we meet tomorrow? Say, during lunch?"

Steven mustered up the ability to croak, "Where?"

The "Champion-in-arms" started talking about a pretentious-sounding gourmet restaurant. The only words that Steven really registered were, "Don't worry about the bill. It's my treat."

"..."

"So, how about it? We'll be discussing our shared championship tomorrow."

"Uh," said Steven.

"What?"

"I didn't quite catch your name."

"Oh!" A laugh. "I'm Wallace."

For some reason, Steven didn't quite like the sound of that.


End file.
